White Collar: A Friend In Deed
by Ruahnna
Summary: A friend in need is a friend, indeed, but a friend in DEED, is a true friend. Neal's has friends on both sides of any coin, but can loyalty to Neal lead to a genuine friendship between Sara and Mozzie?


**Title:** A Friend in Deed

**Rating**: Gen

**Genre/Relationship: **Mozzie and Sara (friendship) Neal/Sara

**Spoilers:** None

**Word Count:** 2,034

**Summary:** A friend in _deed_ is a friend indeed.

**A/N:** Written for the prompt "Unexpected Friendship" at Doin' It In DC, bracket 1, on November 2, 2013

A Friend in Deed

The door wasn't locked, which wasn't surprising. Neither was the sight of the balding dome visible over the back of the couch.

"Sara," said Mozzie, not looking up from his book.

Sara forced a bright smile that came out a little sharkish. "Mozzie," she said, and came briskly into Neal's room.

She busied herself for a moment, putting away the food she'd brought—it was her turn to "cook"—and setting up a pot of coffee she wasn't likely to drink. She made a couple of abortive attempts at chatter, and Mozzie responded with basic civility, but her conversational forays sputtered out under their own weight. She started to speak again, stopped, then sighed, her slim back tight with tension.

Mozzie gave up and closed the book. "Do you want to tell me now? Or wait until Neal comes?"

Sara turned and stared at him, her eyes large with surprise and unexpected need. "How did you—I mean, I don't know—"

"Neal's not here," said Mozzie. His expression gave nothing away. "But you already know that. So, if Neal isn't here, and you're here during work hours…?" He did not finish his statement. He didn't have to.

Sara smoothed her skirt down nervously, then stalked over to where he sat on the couch and looked down at him. Her misery was apparent, but she smiled bravely. It was the bravery, more than the smile, that Mozzie responded to. He had closed his book, but now he put it down on the table and uncrossed his legs, turning to her, making his body posture open. Behind his glasses, however, his blue eyes were sharp, and Sara swore later she could practically see his nostrils flare with interest. He inclined his head toward the far end of the couch, but instead, Sara pulled around a chair from the table and sat on it, facing him.

"I need your help," she said simply. Her hands were balled in her lap, and her cheeks were faintly pink with distress, but she was doing her best to mask her anxiety. Mozzie liked her attempt to be direct and non-hysterical—he had a deep fear of hysterical women—and he leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, the picture of attentiveness.

"Tell me," he said, and Sara tried to think how to begin.

"Neal isn't exactly the first guy I've…dated," Sara began, then stopped.

"No surprise there," said Mozzie, and Sara looked at him sharply.

"You're attractive, successful and you've managed to keep up with Neal. This is obviously not your first…" He trailed off, unhappy with where this analogy was going. "So…someone from your past is suddenly making trouble for your future, yes?"

"Oh!" The relief on her face was almost painful, then she got her emotions tightly under wraps again. "I—that is, yes. Someone from my past."

"Recent past? Distant past?"

Again, Sara gave him a sharp look and he held up a hand. "I'm gathering intel."

"I—of course. Right. What do you need to know."

"I need to know," Mozzie said, gently and distinctly, "what personal item you want me to retrieve and exactly how personal that item is." Sara roused herself to protest, but he held up a hand. "And I need to know if the person I'm retrieving it from knows that you might be coming after it."

"Oh, he _knows_, all right," said Sara grimly. "In fact, he changed the security on his apartment just this week."

"And you know this because…?"

Sara squirmed. "I…might have made a previous attempt to retrieve the…um, negatives. He has…pictures, Mozzie. He has pictures of me." Her cheeks, already pink, flamed scarlet, but her green eyes were direct above them. "I need those negatives."

Mozzie settled back and fought the rise of his eyebrows. He chose his next words carefully, mindful of the whole "hysterical woman" possibility. Sara seemed remarkably composed, all told, but the energy radiating off of her would have powered a small steamship, and he knew that if the bands loosed—or were loosened—the situation could get messy and emotional and—omigod—tearful in short order.

"Lots of modern women have photographs that they aren't especially happy about," said Mozzie. "Are they particularly relevant to…today?"

Sara nodded. "They are," she said simply. "I need to get them back."

"Does Neal know?"

Sara started to make a short retort, then stopped and closed her mouth carefully. "Do you mean, 'Does Neal know about the photos?' or 'Does Neal know I'm coming to you?' or—"

"All of the above," said Mozzie, "which is the most-chosen answer on multiple choice questions in standardized test, followed closely by _none_ of the above, which—right. Sorry. Listening again."

"I haven't talked to Neal about the photos." Her eyes were averted, her expression grim. "He'd want to _do_ something about them, and I can't risk…he's got a lot on his plate right now, and I don't want to involve him."

Mozzie inclined his head. "And, obviously, if he doesn't know about the photos, he doesn't know that you're coming to me."

"Yes." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Mozzie waited. He waited until Sara looked up, her hair framing her face, looking for something in his expression. There was almost nothing in his expression to see, and his voice was flat. "How personal?" he asked.

Sara's chin trembled but she pressed her lips together firmly until it stopped. "_Very_ personal," she said. "_Completely_ personal. Mozzie—he filmed us having…that is…." She trailed off, humiliated.

"And I take it you were…_unaware_ of this?"

Her head snapped up and she glared at him.

"The filming, I mean," he back-pedalled madly. "I assume you know about the—"

"Mozzie!" She stood up, almost shaking with indignation, and might have made a run for the door, but Mozzie reached out and—in desperation—grabbed her hand. Sara turned, surprised at the touch of his hand. Mozzie didn't like to touch people, usually, and she knew that he was, at least, trying. "Oh, Mozzie—can you help me? I don't know what I'll do if…."

"Sit back down," said Mozzie. "We've got some time before Neal comes home."

"It this legal?" asked Sara, peering over Mozzie's shoulder.

"No," Mozzie snorted. He did not embellish it or qualify it. Just "no."

"Okay," said Sara. She put her own binoculars up, watching the entrance to the building. They were sitting in Mozzie's taxi, parked almost illegally close to a fire hydrant, but they could see the door from here.

"Don't take this the wrong way," said Mozzie, "but if you _wanted_ to sit in my lap, you should have just—"

"I _wanted_ to drive," Sara snapped. "But apparently your girlfriend is only available for _hire_ with the _driver_."

"I'll thank you to leave Jeane out of this," said Mozzie.

"Seeing as how she's _here_, parked illegally—"

"Almost illegally!"

"Fine, almost illegally on the curb, then—ooh! Look, look!"

"I see, I see—keep your shirt…um."

Sara glared at him. "I _swear_ if I thought you were doing this on purpose, I'd—that's him! That's Dante."

"Looks like the name would have been a dead giveaway," Mozzie muttered.

"Said the man with a drawer full of fake IDs."

"Shhh!"

They watched him set the alarm and leave. He sauntered down the sidewalk like he owned it, swaggering as though the world _owed_ him tribute. Both skilled and schooled at making snap decisions, Neal's partner-in-crime didn't like the man, and he didn't like the fact that he had someone important to Neal under his power. He turned and looked at Sara speculatively, but she was staring at the door almost hungrily. "He's been changing the password every day for a week now," said Sara.

"And you know this because—"

"Shut up—_please_, Mozzie." Sara put her binoculars down. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mozzie. I just—this has made me so…"

"Crazy?"

"Not where I was going with that," Sara gritted.

Unexpectedly, Mozzie smiled. He started to open the door, and Sara reached out and clutched his arm, then pulled her hands away, remembering he didn't like to be touched. "Be…please be careful," she said.

"Relax. I'll get your negatives," said Mozzie, sighing, but Sara was looking at her lap again.

"That's not what I meant," she said softly. "I _meant_, please don't get caught, okay? Neal would never forgive me."

"_I_ would never forgive me," said Mozzie, and got out of the car.

Mozzie's estimation of the man's sneakiness increased with his dislike. It took him five hours—five agonizing hours of meticulous searching—before he found the caches of negatives. Sadly, Sara's were not the only ones in the envelope. Mozzie took them all. He wondered if the man would be able to _afford_ the apartment without this cache of blackmail material, and hoped he _wouldn't_.

Sara had had to go to work, but had insisted that Mozzie take Jaune down to a legitimate parking spot further down the block before she left, so she was not there to see the blast of light that flashed out of every window of Dante's apartment, but she did get the text.

"Done and done," Sara read on her phone, and her knees felt suddenly weak. She didn't text back—plausible deniability and all that—but she had been compiling a list of things she planned to heap on Mozzie if he was successful.

Sitting behind her desk, Sara smiled and shook her head. "If," she said out loud. "As if there was even an _if_.'"

"Mozzie?" said Sara, sailing through the door of Neal's apartment.

"Sara!" Neal greeted her warmly, taking her bags while she made wild eyes in Mozzie's directions.

"Neal's home already," said Mozzie, "so I'm going to let you two lovebirds—"

"Mozzie!" said Neal.

"Mozzie!" echoed Sara. Improvising, Sara plucked at the edge of the grocery bag so Neal could see inside. "I made dinner," she said. "There's enough for three."

Neal looked up in surprise, first at Sara and then at Mozzie. "First the stake-out ends early," he said. "And now the two of you—"

Sara stretched up and kissed him, putting some work into it, and Neal forgot why he was complaining.

"Welcome home," she said warmly, one hand on his face. She kissed him again, then smiled. "Why don't you go put on something more comfortable and we'll put out supper."

Still reeling from the kiss, Neal set the bag down on the table and did what he was told. He stopped at the door to the hallway, turned back once to look at Sara quizzically, but she smiled her sassy, sexy smile and he turned and went through the door.

The second he did, she _dived_ onto Mozzie, taking the little envelope from him and putting it in the inner pocket of her purse as though it were radioactive.

"Thank you, Mozzie—thank you. I've got money, but—"

"Are you going to tell him?"

"About the pictures?" Sara asked, looking surprised.

Mozzie crossed his arms and _looked_ at her. "No," he said. "About the promotion."

Sara blanched, then her cheeks flamed with shame. "I…I haven't yet."

Mozzie looked at her for a long moment, his expression carefully neutral, and Sara squirmed.

"Mozzie, I—"

"Don't hurt him," said Mozzie bluntly. "I know you probably have reason to, but _don't_. Leave if you have to—I get that—but don't be mean. _That's_ my price."

Sara looked at him, her face suffused with tenderness. "Okay," she said simply. "I won't."

"Mozzie didn't stay?" said Neal. He was showered, changed, damp and…irresistible.

"No. I guess he didn't want to intrude."

"He's a weird little guy."

"He's a good friend," said Sara.

"Yes," said Neal. "He is."

Sara smiled and kissed him. "I know," she said. "I could tell."


End file.
